A Twist in the Tale
by deja noir
Summary: Everybody falls in love, even the cold and seemingly empty Tom Marvolo Riddle. And as every great love goes, a child is produced. Who is the wretched fruit of this love—the wretched fruit of Voldemort’s loins?
1. Chapter 1

**A TWIST IN THE TALE**

**By deja noir**

**a.k.a tom's princess**

Disclaimer: J.K.'s responsible for most characters. Some are figments of my imagination.

Summary: Everybody falls in love, even the cold and seemingly empty Tom Marvolo Riddle. And as every great love goes, a child is produced. Who is the wretched fruit of this love—the wretched fruit of Voldemort's loins? Will that person follow the shadows of the renowned Dark Lord?

A/n: I edited this story of mine. I won't tell you guys what story—because I changed the title—is because it might spoil the plot. Anyway, do enjoy.

To my previous readers: I hope you like the revised version of chapter one. I think the previous one sucked a bit, I don't know.

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Chapter One:

There are six billion people in the world; six billion souls who are constantly struggling. And of those six billion, there're always two who struggle together.

On the one hand, there is Tom Marvolo Riddle, young, restless and—not to mention—in love, who is the son of the late muggle Tom Riddle Sr. and the witch Merope Gaunt. On the other, there is Elizabeth Doyle, beautiful, smart and—like Tom—in love who is the daughter of the English wizard, Edward Doyle II and the French witch Antoinette Lécrois-Doyle. Together, they had vowed to transcend the thorns of life, promising to be true to each other, promising to give life to another. The latter promise was soon brought into reality. When they entwined, her lips and his breathed life onto the soul of a child. A child they had promised to nurture with love and care; however, due to unforeseen circumstances, was thwarted. Instead, it was another hand, not of Elizabeth's, that gave the child maternal love.

---

The now flesh and bones figure of the still fairly handsome Draco Malfoy was seated at the corner of his king sized four-poster bed, heavily engrossed in a single thought: the future of his family, especially his mother, Narcissa, the only woman he has ever really cared about. What now? It was the single question that bugged him night and day ever since his and Snape's plight from Hogwarts; their plight which, he assumed, would lead to anything but praise and satisfaction from the Dark Lord. He could not eat, he could not sleep, he could not move. Why hadn't he mustered the guts to utter Avada Kedavra? Why had he allowed Snape to finish his task? It was his task, not Snape's. Why?

Now it has been exactly two weeks since the burial of his supposed victim, Dumbledore. Seventeen days since their plight and soon enough, the tragic rendezvous of the Dark Lord and him will transpire.

As if on queue to his thoughts, from out of no where, a dark, cloaked figure appeared on the corner of his unlit room. "Have you been crying, Draco?"

The voice affirmed Draco's worst fears. It was cold and spine-chilling, like the sound of the wind mixed with howls of wolves and several other beasts. Surely, it was from no one but the Dark Lord's.

"I am deeply sorry my Lord," said Draco, on his knees. "I was a coward and I am, with my entirety, apologizing. I am pleading you my Lord, please condone me."

As Draco drew nearer to Voldemort's knees, he cried, clearly irritated, "Stand up!"

Draco followed, without hesitation.

"I did not come here to punish you, Draco."

"My Lord?" Draco swore he heard wrong. "But I have wronged you… disobeyed you," he continued.

"I know and you need not remind me for I am well aware of your act of cowardice."

"But I did my best and I got my fellow Death Eaters inside Hogwarts, my Lord."

"Do not lift your own chair, Draco."

"I am sorry, my Lord, please forgive me," said Draco obsequiously.

"Yes, Draco, you are," said Voldemort. "But before I do, you have to cease that appalling attitude of yours."

"Excuse me, my Lord?"

"I will not tolerate utterly weak, cowardly and seemingly helpless men—especially if it's you who lacks valour!"

Draco said a single word no more. His Dark Lord wanted bravery? He could try giving it to him.

"I have trained my advocates well enough to be anything but you. So you, of all people, should exceed their valiant nature."

He remained silent, taking the Dark Lord's sermons in. Was that a compliment or not?

"You, Draco Malfoy should be stronger and more merciless."

But he was just a boy. Comparing him to an aged and experienced Death Eater was not at all fair.

"Yes, I understand that you are a boy but that does not excuse you," he continued, after reading the boy's thoughts. "That insolent and worthless Potter boy, I bet, could beat you in a single duel."

"He has powers similar to you, my Lord. Powers greater than mine"

"Nonetheless, you have to surpass him! Severus had commended the depth of your sorcery. Do not let him down—do not let me down!"

"I will my Lord, but undoubtedly, you will always be better than me."

"I know—haven't I told you to stop wallowing in insecurities and inferiority? Do not think lowly of yourself!"

"But my Lord—"

"If you think of yourself as a weakling, you think of me as a weakling too."

"But I don't—I will never—"

"You are my son, Draco," he paused, just enough to let the words sink in. "You must at least gain 3/4th of my abilities."

---

Hermione Granger was busily scratching her quill against a piece of parchment when her mother, Irene Granger, knocked on her door.

"Come in."

Irene took a seat on Hermione's couch, settled an inch or two from the left of where Hermione was.

Hesitantly, her mother said, "We have to talk."

"Sure, let me just finish this," said Hermione gaily. She was writing a letter to Ron and Harry.

"No, Hermione, we have to talk," said Irene more sternly.

Puzzled, she replaced her quill and then faced her mother. "Okay, let's talk."

"I feel that the time has come for me to tell you this"

Her mother's face had a rather unusual disposition. From a perky and high-spirited face, why had it gone serious all of a sudden? Had she done something to displease her?

"Did I do something wrong mother?"

"No, Hermione," she said, eyes glistening with tears. "You never had."

Confused, "Why are you crying then?"

"Because you never wronged us and in return we, your father and I, haven't exactly been honest with you."

"What's there to be honest about, mum?"

"My dear Hermione, I wish I could have told you earlier… but I can't." Her tears were now streaming down her cheek.

Why was she so upset? "Mum… I don't understand—"

"We haven't been honest about who you really are," Irene said slowly.

With those few words, she had comprehended everything. "You mean to say I'm adopted?"

---

In Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter was sifting through the Black's antiquities and memorabilia found in the attic. Maybe he could find something which could unravel the location of each and every Horcrux Voldemort had. The Black's were pureblood's so chances of bumping into Death-Eater materials, hell even Voldemort-handed materials were high.

There were broken vases and jars, pictures, papers, some of which were rubbish, some letters, some even documents but none of them seemed useful. Or so, that's what he thought. He had been up there for two days, to go down only to eat, sleep and take a bath, but still, he was hardly halfway through all their stuff.

"Master Potter," said Kreacher, unwillingly, "Dinner is served."

Harry looked at the miserably looking elf, wearing only loin-covering sheets. How he really wished he could strangle him, but that would make him a murderer, no worse than Bellatrix herself, the cursed witch who had killed his godfather. How he wished he could kick him out of the house to avenge the treachery he had committed but he can't. That'll only make the elf happier. So, what better vengeance than service to him, Harry Potter? Although, he had to be cautious. He had learned that loose threads could certainly kill, as evidenced by Sirius' death. He planned on living long enough to have himself a family and to kill the mass murderer, Voldemort, which is why he had created his own 10 commandments for Kreacher to follow:

You shall not in ANY WAY harm me.

You shall neither fib to me nor my friends.

You shall make me EDIBLE breakfast, lunch and dinner.

You shall heed my orders and my calls.

You shall not talk to anyone else besides me and my friends—make sure they are my genuine friends.

You shall not leave this house EVEN WHEN I TELL YOU SO.

You shall only speak to tell me IMPORTANT things.

You shall not intercept, get and keep letters from my friends, Hogwarts and whoever writes me letters unless I tell you so.

You shall not speak ill of me.

Finally, to get on his nerves more,

You shall address me MASTER.

"Make sure my dinner's hot when I get down."

And then, Kreacher closed the door.

Harry stood up, took several pieces of parchment to look at while he eats, and then started to exit the room. On his way down to the dinning table, he passed the Black Family Tree which read: The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. How he wanted to scrap the name Bellatrix Lestrange from that tapestry. He wanted her to die a cruel death—just like Sirius'.

He was shifting through the papers and just when he was about to conclude that the rim of paper he had was, again, rubbish, he saw a baptismal certificate. Not just any other birth certificate—it was Severus Snape's baptismal certificate. The shock imprinted on his face was priceless.

---

A/n:

It won't hurt to leave a single review, whether you like it or not. It takes great time and effort for one to write, or in my case, beautify a story. I mean, I did _major_ editing for chapter one so please be kind and leave a review. You just don't know what and how great the effect of one review, either one worded or paragraphed, is to us, aspiring writers.

Kisses,

deja noir 


	2. Chapter 2

**A TWIST IN THE TALE**

**By deja noir**

A/n: Thanks to those who reviewed especially to my first reviewer, sly-serpentine Smiles to you!

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Chapter Two:

Harry read the baptismal certificate once again. He could not believe what his eyes were seeing but he was certain he had read it correctly after reading it more than once. It appears that Severus Snape was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's godson as stated clearly by the baptismal certificate. How could that be? How could that happen when Snape, as he had seen, murdered Dumbledore using the killing curse, Avada Kedavra? How could he have summoned up the guts to kill the only godfather, based on the certificate, he had? How dare him! How dare he do that to the good old helpless man—to his godfather? Surely he, Harry, couldn't dare to commit such a terrible crime against, his godfather, if he were still alive. How twisted then, is Severus Snape's mind. How spiteful, how evil, how—hold it, what was the certificate doing inside 'The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black'? Why was it there? Is Snape, by any chance, interwoven in the old tapestry?

---

"You mean to say I'm adopted?" Hermione asked in sheer shock.

"Well… you… I… uhmm…" Why was she stuttering? She had practiced this more than a million times. "Well… yes… yes you are, my dear."

Hermione opened her mouth but no words came out.

"Your father and I wanted to tell you but we couldn't. We were told not to until—"

"—until what? Until I'm old enough to feel awkward about this adoption thing? Come on!"

"No, no," she said, standing up—a move whose effect was the opposite of what she desired: to pacify Hermione. "Until you're old enough as requested by your biological father," she continued.

"What?! You, you sensible people, will submit to the father who abandoned me in the first place?"

"He did not abandon you."

"Why do you think I'm reacting like this then? I'm adopted! Ditching me is a giveaway."

"Hermione, please understand—"

"What should I understand? That I was unwanted so they gave me away? That I was some weird child who had magical powers so they gave me away? That I was—"

"You're parents are wizards Hermione," she paused, "They couldn't have loathed you because you're a witch. In fact, they wanted you… they wanted you but… but things got complicated."

"How complicated could owning a child be?" Tears started to trickle down her face. "Am I that hard to love?"

"Hermione, you are not only lovable but very very much lovable. You're a sweet child who has grown up to be a smart and kind adolescent. You are not hard to love, Hermione. Never think that"

"If you do love me then, why are you doing this to me?"

"Because you're biological father wills it. He wants you to know him despite what's happened."

"You mean despite abandoning me? Leaving me inside an orphanage?"

"They didn't leave you in an orphanage," she paused and gazed at her adopted daughter's eyes, smiling. "Your biological father pleaded for us to take care of you. He pleaded for us to keep you away from any harm."

"What? You knew them? How could—so you had no choice but to take me?"

"Yes, we knew them but, given the choice of whether to take you or not, we'd still be having this conversation—I'll still take you." She paused and hesitated to continue what was coming but soon decided to go with it. "I'm you're birth godmother and you're father's your birth godfather."

She opened her mouth once again to speak, but words escaped her.

"You're biological mother and I were good friends back in the day."

"Hold it!" She placed her fingers on her temples hastily, "How.." she let go. "How could you two be friends? She's a wizard, as you've said, right? And you're—oh my God! Are you a wizard yourself?"

She did not speak but nonetheless, confirmed the question.

"All this time I thought I was… I had a muggle mother and wow, what a great blow, turns out I don't even know you!"

Her mother kept silent. She had expected things would go wrong but she didn't expect it to be this wrong. How she wished her husband was here. But he was out there—in China.

"Let me guess, you're name isn't even Irene."

"I…"

"Oh my God!" She turned toward the other direction. "I don't even know my mother's name."

"If it's hard for you, Hermione, it's harder for me"

"I just can't believe you'd say this now—now that I'm almost seventeen!" She sat down on her bed, burying her face with her hands.

"I'm sorry but you had to know."

There was a long silence and it was only the sobs of Hermione which echoed all throughout the room.

She finally unveiled her bloodshot eyes, sore from tears, and looked at her mother as if finally understanding how difficult this was for her mother, "Do you mind me knowing what your name is?"

"Of course not. It's Francesca. Francesca Van Gord," she smiled. At last, Hermione knows who she really is.

"How about dad?"

"Vincent Bulstrode"

"But why do you have to change names? Why do you have to pretend to be muggles?"

Francesca had not prepared for this question. Her daughter was really smart.

"To answer your question I'll give you your birth name. I'll know you'll figure it out. But I want to tell you first that there are reasons as to why this had all come to happen and I ask of you to give me a chance to explain."

Incredulous, "What do you mean? There's more to this?"

"Yes, there's more," Francesca said slowly. "There's more, Venus Antoinette… Riddle."

"What?" asked Hermione, worried. She was sure she heard her say Riddle. Her mum was, in fact, emphatic on that last word. "What do you mean Riddle?" Voldemort's last name was Riddle.

Francesca remained silent.

"That can't be right!—I can't be—No!" She stood up again, this time frantic and extremely weary. "No! I can't be his…" she continued trailing off.

"No!! No way!! I'm not!! This is all a dream!! No!! That's not possible!!" She was jumping up and down, desperate to wake herself up from this apocryphal dream. This dream, which, unfortunately, was reality.

---

"You are my son, Draco," he paused, just enough to let the words sink in. "You must at least gain 3/4ths of my abilities."

"Your son? But I'm a Malfoy," said Draco in pure bewilderment.

"I know, I know, but, don't you want to be my son-in-law?"

---

A/n:

Do leave a little review. Wouldn't hurt to make me smile, wouldn't it?

Kisses,

deja noir 


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